


The Language(s) of Love

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes ‘I love you’ doesn't feel like enough. Sometimes, it feels like the words are too small.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language(s) of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly Valentine’s Day related, I’d say, but love-inspired nonetheless :) I had originally planned this as part of Julia's (shoedonym on Tumblr) Cultural Week last year, but the muse was largely uncooperative as we all know xD Anyway, huge thanks to the following lovelies that shared how to say ‘I love you’ in their native languages: Tumblr friends @cat-sophia, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @shady-swan-jones, @rolliejogger, @truelovescpr, @callmefons, @jen2325, and a couple of anons too!

It starts with an early morning goodbye and the press of his lips to her bare shoulder before he brushes his mouth near her ear and whispers something she doesn’t quite catch.

“What?” she murmurs sleepily, turning just a little towards him.

His hair falls over his brow in typical fashion as he looms over her and he’s close enough that the ends of it tickle her forehead. She shifts further onto her back, facing him fully, hand reaching up absentmindedly so she can rub the backs of her fingers along his jaw and feel the scratch of his scruff against her skin.

“What did you say? I didn’t hear.” Her eyes are adjusted enough to the dimness that she can just make out his face in the shadows of their room, see the gentle curving of his lips.

He doesn’t answer, merely touches a lingering kiss to her confused pout, and when he pulls away to tuck the blankets tighter around her, it’s hard to miss the way his eyes gleam with mirth and the secrets in them that he won’t share.

“We’ll be back for dinner,” he tells her, and she _knows_ that isn’t what he had said just moments before, but her yawn is huge, eyes fluttering back closed as she curls up beneath the covers and rolls onto her side again. 

Eh, whatever. Warmth and sleep entice her back under, beckoning her far away from the hours before dawn breaks, and she’s never really been one to argue against having more of either of those things, so she doesn’t persist about it. Besides, he can tell her later.

“‘Kay, but don’t f’get Henry’s life jacket.”

“Aye-aye, Sheriff,” he chuckles, amusement clear in his voice.

He straightens after that and quietly shuffles around the room for a few more minutes. She feels his hand squeeze around her ankle and the last thing she hears before she drifts completely off into sleep once more, is the quiet click of the door when he closes it behind him.

* * *

“ _Ich liebe dich_ ,” he whispers against her mouth between goodbye kisses outside the station a few days later.

Emma pulls away, brow furrowed in confusion as she meets and holds his gaze. “What?”

He twists a lock of her hair around his finger, rubs his thumb over it as if to feel the texture, then proceeds to distract her by tugging her forward by it so he can kiss her again. Really, _really_ thoroughly.

“Have a good day, Swan.” His smile curves against her lips and she is too dazed to think of much else beyond the tingling down her spine that goes all the way to her toes.

He pulls away with a sigh, reluctance making his movements slow, swaying back and forth into her space in a way that makes her think he might just give her the pleasure of kissing her again. Unfortunately, she is left standing there, completely befuddled by the sudden empty air in front of her. It takes her a second to recover, gaze following him as he saunters away. He glances back only once to throw her a wink before he disappears around the corner of the building.

* * *

On Saturday, breakfast is a mad dash of Killian and Henry racing against the clock while simultaneously stuffing their mouths with food and finishing up their packing. They have plans for the weekend to go on some top secret ‘ _Men Only_ ’ getaway with David, Robin, and little Roland too.

Emma spends the morning sitting on the third step of their stairs, enjoying the chaos in the house while she sips her coffee. She smiles every time one of them runs down then back up the stairs, muttering under their breaths and hollering for her when they can’t find something. It makes their home feel so...full, lived in, _normal_.

Henry is out the door first, rushing by her after a quick kiss to the top of her head. He pauses in the threshold after having thrown the door open then clamps an apple between his teeth as he slings his backpack on. When he’s finished, he takes a hearty bite and chews furiously, swallowing before he yells, “ _Hurry up, Killian!_ ”

She can hear his boots scuffling around in their walk-in closet, drawers banging shut and clattering open in a vicious cycle.

“We’ll only be gone for two days, you don’t need to take your whole wardrobe- not that you have much of one anyway,” Henry snarks, saying that last part under his breath.

They grin at each other at Killian’s offended, “ _I bloody heard that!_ ”

Henry snickers, taking another bite of his apple and waving at her. “Bye Mom, love you, see you Monday!”

It makes her heart squeeze a little bit, watching Henry go, seeing him standing beside her father as he helps him load up his stuff in the trunk of the car. She remembers when he’d barely come past her hip and now he’s almost as tall as David.

She moves from her place on the steps to stand in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb for a better look. David and Robin give her a wave when they both catch sight of her and she’s just about to say hello in greeting when she is promptly distracted by Killian grasping her arm and swinging her around to face him. He crushes his mouth to hers without warning but her arms automatically go around him, coffee mug pressing into his back, her other hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Dimly she hears the mutual groans of his companions and it makes her smile against his lips. The kiss is chaste, for the most part (for her father’s benefit, she’s sure), but it doesn’t keep her toes from curling or a sigh from escaping her lips when he breaks away to rest his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” she tells him. “Stay out of trouble.”

“ _Obicham te_ ,” he replies, tilting his chin up to brush his lips over the tip of her nose. “Perhaps you should tell _them_ that.” He nods towards the others and then hitches his pack higher onto his shoulder.

Alright, now she knows _for sure_ she isn’t imagining things. She snags him by the arm before he can get too far, fingers curling around his elbow because he is _not_ getting off the hook that easily. “Hey, what do you keep saying to me that I can’t understand?”

He grins at her, opens his mouth as if he means to finally tell her, and is cut off by the blast of a car horn. Followed by another. And another.

She rolls her eyes because she doesn’t even have to look to know that her father is behind it. At least she knows she can _always_ count on him to be a constant interruption (and pain in her ass). He leans over to kiss her one more time, pulls away, then changes his mind and comes back for another, lingering long enough for David to threaten to wake the whole damn neighborhood up if he doesn’t move it.

“You won’t miss him too terribly if he doesn’t return on Monday, will you?” he wonders, eyes teasing.

“Miss him? I’ll help you hide the evidence.”

He chuckles and gives her hand a final squeeze before he jogs out the door and towards the vehicle. “See you on Monday,” he calls back. “Try not to miss me too much!”

She shakes her head at him but waves until their car is just a tiny dot in the distance.

* * *

She meets them all at Granny’s for breakfast first thing Monday morning. It’s a cozy little setup -- _this_ , all of them together -- and one she’s gotten surprisingly used to over the last year. Henry is sandwiched between Robin and Regina, baby Hood nestled in her father’s arms while Roland sneaks chocolate chips off the pancakes Regina had ordered from his place on her lap. David sits beside Mary Margaret with Emma’s little brother in his arms, attempting to feed David a sliver of potato from his plate of hash browns.

There’s an empty seat beside Killian, but instead of plunking down into it, she slides her arms around him from behind and presses her cheek to the top of his head as she hugs him. The gesture is easy and natural, as is the way his hand comes up to rest over hers.

“Gross, you need a bath,” she whispers in his ear.

“Don’t I know it,” he answers, turning his head to get a look at her.

She’ll never tire of that, the way his expression softens and blooms with so much love every time he sees her.

 _Do you want to scrub my back?_ He mouths the words to her, wiggling his eyebrows as he does so and making her grin in the process.

The hum in her throat is a quiet sound, the look on her face contemplative as she purses her lips together. “Maybe.”

His smile looks absolutely wicked and inviting, and she cannot resist closing the space between them to peck him on the mouth.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

“Me too,” she replies, nudging her nose against his so she can tilt his mouth up for one more kiss.

There’s a chocolate chip that sails across the table and hits her squarely on the cheek, and when she glances up, her father is eyeing her over the rim of his mug, his blue eyes full of mirth. She glowers at him and he returns the look with an innocent smile. Emma responds by picking up a blueberry from Killian’s bowl of fruit and chucking it at him, nailing him right in the middle of the forehead and making her brother squeal with delight. Neal slaps the hash browns fisted in his hands against David’s cheek and laughter rings out across the table -- chiming and happy.

“Serves you right,” her mother says, winking at Emma.

She grins from ear to ear and Killian links their hands, fingers twining together as soon as she settles in beside him.

He leans over, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “ _Σ'αγαπαω,_ ” he tells her, kissing her cheek before skewering a piece of fruit with his hook and nibbling a bite off.

A lick of irritation makes its way across her shoulders and she gives him a frowning look. Yeah, they definitely need to have a talk about _that_ later.

(They don’t get to talk later because he’s too busy doing other things with his mouth -- _to her_ , between her legs -- and that alternative is perfectly fine with her. Perfectly fine.

But later, in the aftermath of their frenzied ‘haven’t-banged-you-in-two-days’ lovemaking, as he lays sprawled over her, his forehead pressed to her heart, she _swears_ she hears him mumble ‘ _kocham cię_ ’ into her skin, and she reminds herself to ask him about it after her toes stop tingling.

Sleep comes before she gets the chance.)

* * *

She never does get the opportunity to bring it up with him, something always interfering with her plans -- distractions, interruptions, simple forgetfulness. Eventually he starts leaving notes around for her to find too.

‘ _Saranghae_ ’ written in his neat, loopy cursive on the chalkboard above the hooks next to the door where they hang their keys.

‘ _Szerelmes vagyok beléd_ ’ on a post-it note stuck to the dashboard of her car.

She gets a text at lunch, ‘ _Ik zie je graag_ ’ and she starts to wonder if maybe he’s losing his mind.

By the time she picks up her usual to-go order on Thursday -- grilled cheese and onion rings, of course -- and the bag shows up with one of Granny’s receipts taped to it reading, ‘ _Jag älskar dig,_ ’ she’s had it with all of his cryptic messages. She snags the food off the counter, marches down the street, straight into the library and thrusts the paper in front of Belle’s face without so much as a greeting.

“I need your help,” she says. “What the hell is this?”

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Belle smiles pleasantly, completely unfazed by Emma’s antics. Her head tilts as she tries to get a better look at the paper. “What’s that?”

“I don’t _know_ , ‘ _jag-als-kar-dig_ ’...or something? Killian keeps saying words I don’t understand and leaving me notes or sending me texts with more words that make no sense.” She pouts, brow furrowing in frustration. “A little help, please?”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

Emma huffs exasperatedly. “I’ve _tried_ , and I keep getting interrupted or distracted -- really, _really_ distracted-” She clears her throat and feels her cheeks warm at Belle’s knowing look. “Or forgetting. The point is, is that I haven’t gotten a straight answer out of him. Can you please just look at it for me?”

Belle takes the little sheet from her, eyes narrowing as she studies the text and mutters something under her breath. “Emma, you don’t happen to have another one of these notes do you?”

She produces the post-it from her jacket, handing it over to Belle and watching her face for any sign of recognition or indication that she knows what they are. It doesn’t take long, a soft smile curling the edges of Belle’s mouth as she reads both pieces of paper together.

“So _that’s_ what he’s been up to,” she mutters to herself.

Emma’s brow arches up expectantly as the notes are handed back to her.

“It’s pronounced ‘ _yah-elskuh-dey,_ ’ it means ‘I love you’ in Swedish.” She taps at the receipt then at the post-it. “And this one is ‘I’m in love with you’ in Hungarian.”

“What?” She shakes her head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Killian’s been coming around,” Belle explains. “Poking his nose in maps and travel books, books about different countries. I didn’t think much of it, I mean, I assumed his thirst for knowledge was just in his nature but I guess what he was really doing was learning how to say ‘I love you’ in different languages.”

Her heart abruptly lodges itself into her throat. “Oh,” she breathes.

“ _Oh_ ,” Belle echoes, nodding her head in agreement, her smile wide.

What an idiot. “Well...thanks?”

“Anytime! Tell Killian ‘hello’ for me.”

All she can do is nod, her thoughts suddenly preoccupied as she shows herself out. What an idiot. What a sweet, darling, _idiot_ of a man she’s gone and fallen in love with.

* * *

For a town so small, it sure is difficult finding the one person she wants to speak with the most. She spends twenty minutes between leaving the library, going home (only to find it empty and devoid of pirate), and cruising down Main Street at a snail’s place (eyes scanning both sidewalks for him), before she finally makes her way down to the docks. She finds him aboard the Jolly Roger, his eyes lighting up in that way that backs the breath up into her lungs the second he sees her, and her heart clenches in her chest.

“Swan,” he smiles, sauntering closer into her space, leading with his hips in that playful way he always does whenever he’s realized he’s got the perfect opportunity to flirt with her. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. What are you-”

She launches herself bodily at him mid-sentence, arms looping tightly around his neck the same moment she fuses her mouth to his. Her legs encircle his waist when she feels him take the brunt of her weight, lifting her up off her toes. Her murmured ‘cabin, _now_ ’ against his lips, does not go unheeded, but she kisses him harder anyway -- adding teeth and tongue -- to really reiterate her point. He stumbles his way towards his quarters, cursing when he accidentally takes his elbow to the doorjamb.

She laughs at the breathless way he swears some more, whining something about it being _the middle of the bloody day_ and _damn minx_ , but when they finally tumble into bed, the only whining he does is of her name as she loves him and loves him, over and over into a starlit oblivion.

Later, when they are a sweaty, tangled mess on the tiny bed, she traces symbols into the space above his heart with her fingertips -- an ‘ _I_ ’ punctuated with a kiss to his shoulder, a _heart_ with the press of her lips to the bridge of his nose, and a ‘ _U_ ’ after she brushes a kiss to his mouth. She pillows her chin on her hand where it rests on his chest when she’s finished and grins at the sleepy, sated smile on his face.

“What other languages have you learned?” she wonders.

He reaches up, stroking a finger over the dimple in her cheek near the corner of her mouth. “‘ _J’taime’_ from France.” He boops the tip of her nose, making her scrunch it in response. “‘ _Wo ai ni’_ is Mandarin, from China.” Then he tucks her hair behind her ear. “‘ _Ti amo’_ is Italian.” There’s a pause as he contemplates her. “I’m learning Japanese tomorrow.”

She laughs quietly, just a singular chuckle that is full of amusement. “Of course you are.”

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” he tells her.

Her head cants at him, giving him a considering look. “What’s wrong with just ‘I love you?’”

“Well,” he says, hand forging a path along her spine and making her shiver involuntarily in his arms. “For one thing, I was trying to be romantic.”

“Yeah, but...that only works if I know you’re being romantic,” she reasons, smile tugging up the corners of her mouth. “As far as I could tell, you were just losing your damn mind, making up gibberish and nonsense words.”

He chuckles at that, gives her butt a playful little pat before resting his hand on her lower back. “Touché, Swan.” His hand moves again, circuiting back up until he can take her hand in his. She plays with the rings on his fingers, an absentminded gesture as she watches his brow wrinkle in thought. “Honestly? Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“What doesn’t?” she wonders.

“‘I love you.’ Sometimes...it feels like the words are too small.”

She sighs at that, everything inside of her melting and softening, replaced by a bright, warm glow she feels all the way down to her bones. He’s always had this way about him -- with words, with actions too -- bringing her to her knees with nothing more than a sentence or a gesture. _God_ , does she love him. Sometimes it’s still overwhelming and wonderful to discover exactly how much.

“Damn it. _Damn it._ Alright, you win. You _are_ ridiculously, terribly, wonderfully romantic and I hate you and I’ll make sure to send you my dentist bills.”

He stares at her for a long moment, eyes flitting across her face before his lips finally curve up and he leans forward to kiss her gently.

“Killian?” she says when he pulls away.

“Yes, love?”

“For the record, I _know_ , okay? I know how much you love me. It doesn’t matter how you say it.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t care how you say it, just that you do.”

(The next morning, they walk to the library together after she finishes up with work, stopping by Granny’s on the way and picking up some hot cocoa with cinnamon. They spend half an hour or so at one of the tables in the back, carefully sipping their drinks as they read through Belle’s books. When she’s not too busy studying him instead of the text, or stealing kisses from him for that matter, she learns that in Japan they say, ‘ _Aishite imasu_ ’ for ‘I love you’ and Southwest from there, in the island nation of the Philippines, they say ‘ _Mahal din kita_ ’ for ‘I love you too.’)

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day, my cuties, I hope you all have a love-filled day Xx


End file.
